


Spark

by gabapple



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3118139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabapple/pseuds/gabapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakuba is murdered after Conan refuses to help him with a case. While the circumstances surrounding his death seem straightforward enough, things become complicated after Conan begins to receive letters from Hakuba 45 days later. Using the clues and journals left for him, Conan must forge unexpected alliances to discover the truth behind their shared 'Boscombe' secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of five.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan or Magic Kaito.

"So did you get hit in the face or what?"

"I don't have a lot of time, Edogawa-kun. If you could stop evading my line of questioning, I'll be able to do what I've come to do and be out of your way."

Conan glanced up at the detective across the coffee table, who sat prim and proper, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded in his lap. The bruising cut across his cheekbone was the only thing that was out of place compared to the mental image that he kept of him, even down to the black briefcase at his feet. Hakuba Saguru was someone that he liked and respected. Despite his distant behavior, he was friendly enough, and a professional in his own right.

But today, he'd come with questions that the pint-sized detective wasn't interested in answering.

"Hm… no." The boy offered a shrug with his answer. "Uncle's not here, so I can't help you with your case, Hakuba-san. Client confidentiality and all, y'know."

The blond sighed, lifting a hand to rub the bridge of his nose; a tired, but practiced action that he'd done more than half a dozen times since arriving fifteen minutes earlier. "Yes, I understand all of that. As a consultant, I have my own policies regarding this very thing, however-"

"So you know that I can't tell you anything. Sorry, but you're gonna have to find the information out for yourself. Not that that'll be a problem for you, right? You're the Sherlock of the new century!" Conan snickered, which only tightened Hakuba's jaw.

"Speaking as one colleague to another, this is ridiculous. I need your help, Edogawa-kun. I know that you can. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Haaakuba-san, I'm only six years old. You're my senpai! How'm _I_ supposed to help _you?_ "

"Please… please don't patronize me," Hakuba said, shifting then to stand. His hands returned to their folded position, this time behind his back. "You don't understand."

"What do you mean?" Conan watched as Hakuba moved toward the window, gaze fixed on the navy suit jacket. It was neatly pressed, just as the rest of his clothing, just as it always was. That was Hakuba's manner; clean, orderly, pristine. All according to regulation. Good, straight posture, head held high, but not too much. He wasn't military or royalty, but he was disciplined. Hakuba came from money and private academies. But that didn't change Conan's position one bit.

"I know who you are." The foreign detective sighed again. "I only haven't been forward out of professional courtesy and respect for you."

_What? He couldn't mean…_

Conan froze, then shook his head, quirking a brow. "Huh?"

Hakuba glanced back over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, then turned back to the streets below. "Are you really going to deny that you are, in fact, Kudou Shinichi?"

Forcing an incredulous smirk, Conan flopped sideways onto the couch. "Aha ha he – what are you talking about? I know we look similar, but where'd you get _that_ idea?"

"Data analysis. It's really quite simple when you have all of the details, Kudou-san. I've been following your case for months. Which you'd know, had you bothered to read the letters that I'd sent." Hakuba didn't turn to look at him this time; Conan could only assume that he was observing the people below. His voice held none of that arrogant triumph that it normally did during other deductions. He kept the volume down, tone somber.

He knew about the letters. Fanmail from the other detective, all variations on pleas to work on cases together, despite that they both knew that neither of them enjoyed working with others. But… how much did Hakuba really know? He'd have to be careful, here. Conan wasn't prepared to let another person into his circle, not yet. There was too much investment that went into it. Too much risk. Every person who learned the truth further diffused the responsibility and made it that much more dangerous for everyone involved. No, he was not willing to let that happen again. Not with Hakuba, who he only barely knew from a handful of other cases. Not when he couldn't even get along with Hattori for five minutes.

"That's stupid. Shinichi-niisan and I play soccer all the time. I think I'd know if I were secretly my hero, Hakuba-san. What kind of data would you have, anyway?"

"Again, there's really not time for this, Kudou-san. If you could please cut the horseshit and give me the information that I need, I'll be on my way."

It was a bluff, then. He'd seen Hakuba on the news and in interviews; he loved showing off. He lived for the glamour and thrill of running circles around the lesser, especially when he could get them riled up. Missing an opportunity to impress Conan, his self-appointed kohai and apprentice, according to a magazine article a couple of months ago, though? Never.

"I can't tell you anything until you prove it, Hakuba-san. And it'd better be quick, 'cause Ran-neechan's gonna be home soon, and she won't like that you're stalking her _boooyfriend~!"_

Hakuba stiffened, finally turning to face him again, leaning against the glass. His gaze, now icy stone, moved from Conan to the door, then back. "You'd like me to prove it. Irrefutably?"

Conan kicked his feet against the arm of the couch, folding arms behind his head. "Yep."

Hakuba closed his eyes a moment, took in a deep breath, then forced a small smile. "All right, then. But I'll need to use your cellphone."

_Really?_ Conan rolled his eyes as he fished the phone from his pocket and held it up, unable to hold back the smug smirk on his face. "Sure." It was clean, he knew. All data safely tucked away where no one could find it. At least, not in the few minutes Hakuba had before Ran came home.

"Thank you."

"Whatcha gonna do with it?"

"I'm about to make a call."

Conan rolled his eyes. "What's that gonna do?"

"You'll see."

Amused, Conan watched as Hakuba started his pacing again, probably to figure out how to work the thing. A moment later, Hakuba took out his own phone and typed in a speed dial code, then held it up to his ear, looking back at him with a smirk of his own. The expression changed to one of horror, though, right before he began to speak.

"H-hello?!" Hakuba stammered, eyes wide. "Oh, thank god you've answered. I need your help."

Conan sat up. _What was this…?_

"No, no, I'm fine… but it's Kudou-san. He's missing." Hakuba nodded his head to the voice on the other end of the line, biting his lip. "No, you don't understand, Hattori-san…"

Conan frowned. _Shit._

"Hattori-san!" Hakuba hissed. "I need to know who knows about him." A pause. "You know, about his _little secret?_ He's been compromised." He glanced back to Conan again, giving a thumbs up.

_Shit._

"I really don't know where, but… no. Oh, god, he's not supposed to know? Mouri-san was just… Oh, no… oh, god no. If that's true, this building isn't safe. Could you call him, please? I've got to get Megure-keibu on the line immediately."

_Dammit… dammit!_ Conan bit his lip. He could see what was going to happen already, and it wasn't going to be good. Not at all.

"Yes, thank you. I'll let you know if I hear anything at all." Hakuba hung up, then tucked his own phone back into his pocket, lifting Conan's phone up to inspect again, smug smirk back on that arrogant face. "How long do you suppose it'll take?"

Conan thought about fighting it. If he lunged hard enough to the side or back of his legs, he might be able to knock the British bastard down to the floor, long enough to take his phone back. But, doing so would only confirm suspicions. He clenched his fists instead, grinning while he hoped that Hattori would be smart enough to call his _other_ line. "I dunno what you mean, but it's pretty low to worry Heiji-niisan like that."

The little red phone vibrated. Hakuba glanced at the caller ID and gasped, turning it to show the Osakan's photo. He opened the phone and hit the speaker.

"Oi! Kudo?! Are you okay?!"

Conan sighed. "Dammit, Hattori."

"Where are ya?! Hakuba said ya were in trouble!"

"No… no, Hattori, I'm fine. Hakuba's just… Can I have my phone back now?"

Hakuba offered it to him, brows lifted high in amusement, which only frustrated Conan more. _Damn him… damn him!_

"Hakuba's just... what?"

Conan turned speaker off and adjusted his glasses once the phone was tucked against his ear. "So you just gave my secret away to your arch nemesis."

"I WHAT?!"

"My apologies, Hattori-san," Hakuba said, hands slipping into his pockets. "Kudou-san asked me to prove his identity and now I've accomplished this with your help. Thank you for your assistance."

"HAKUBA?!"

Conan held the phone out away from his ear and glared up at him. "YEP. And now I've gotta do some damage control so talk to you later, Hattori."

"I'LL KILL THAT BASTA-"

Click. Conan put the phone away, and folded his arms across his chest. "So."

"So, if you'll please tell me about that bank robbery Mouri-san was called in to discuss, I'd greatly appreciate it, Kudou-san."

"Don't call me that. Not here. Are you stupid?"

Hakuba frowned, taking a seat on the opposite couch once more. "Pardon. Edogawa-kun, if you could relay any information you have regarding the criminals…"

"No."

"What? But I've just proven that…"

"So what?"

"Isn't that the deal we established?"

"No. I don't make negotiations with that kind of information, Hakuba."

"Edogawa-kun, I don't think you understand how important this is. I have reason to believe that those criminals have been involved in other robberies of this very same kind…"

"Yeah, bank robbers will do that. That's kind of their thing."

"It's not just that. This is part of something else. Something _larger._ From what I've been able to learn thus far, if my theories are correct, this so-called small-time robbery was actually the targeted work of an organized syndicate. I think they're after something specific."

Conan returned to his seat, careful to keep his expression deadpan as he listened to Hakuba go on and on. He was absolutely correct, of course, but there was no way that he was going to let him get involved with _them._ Especially now that he knew the truth about Conan. He shrugged. "The reports say otherwise. The guys weren't connected to any of the other burglaries. None have a history with each other, just a rap sheet for other stuff. Arson, auto theft, shoplifting… Just regular crooks."

"You can't really believe that. Surely, you've seen the pattern. The types of banks that are being hit, the kind of clientele that they service. It's all related. It's connected."

"No… pretty sure that you just sound crazy."

Hakuba gaped. "You… you must be joking. You, of all people, would know."

"Yeah. I know. I thought that at first, too, but I've been over the same information a hundred times, and it's just coincidence. They're not related, Hakuba. You're just wasting your time."

He stared, brows furrowed, mouth still open in disbelief. "I know what I've found in the evidence, Edogawa-kun. It's Baskerville all over again."

Conan got up, took his glasses off, and cleaned them with the tails of his shirt. "Oi... You really want to get into Holmes with me, Hakuba?"

"It's better than your passive aggressive comments and blatant lies."

"'…When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,' Hakuba. I've already eliminated that possibility, so what does that tell you?"

Hakuba went back to rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That this is either a Boscombe secret or you really just don't care for me."

Conan tilted his head, humming as he put his glasses back on. "Yeah, that's probably true. Hattori was right about you. You really _are_ kind of obnoxious."

There was a pause, then, as Hakuba regarded the boy in silence. Gone was the attitude, replaced with another icy stare. "Be that as it may, I need to see the case file, Edogawa-kun. Please."

"No."

Hakuba closed his eyes and withdrew the silver watch from his pocket. He flipped it open, glanced down, then snapped it closed before standing up. "Very well. I shall return tomorrow with a warrant."

"Oi, you're gonna pull rank, then? I thought you were better than that, Hakuba."

He shook his head as he walked to the door, hands slipping back into his pockets. "I'll be going through the proper channels, as always. I'm not a poor sport like some of our colleagues and associates, Edogawa-kun."

"Yeah… good luck with that."

Hakuba opened the door and stepped out onto the landing, looking back only to nod his head. "Cheers," he said, voice humorless, and left.

Conan waited until the door clicked closed before turning back to the briefcase that had been left behind. The question was if Hakuba were really that upset with his sarcastic remarks or if he'd meant to leave it behind. Regardless, there was definitely going to be _something_ worth reading in there. He tested the latches and found the lock along the side. Four number dials. It wouldn't take him long to crack; while Hakuba was intelligent, he was predictable. All of that procedure and protocol. But it'd have to wait until everyone else went to bed.

Fortunately, the briefcase wasn't all that heavy. Conan fit it neatly between the filing cabinet and the wall and set up camp back on the couch to wait for the Mouris to come home.

It was just past two am when Conan returned to the office. He switched on the desk lamp and retrieved the briefcase. Heiji had expected his call.

"Yeah, we really need to work on that…"

"I'm sorry, Kudo! That damn halfer had me worried."

"Yeah, I know." Conan sighed, spinning the dials. "Let's see here…"

"What're ya doin?"

"Hakuba left his briefcase here. I'm breaking into it." Conan paused to let Heiji laugh before he continued. "Four numbers. It can't be that hard."

"Try 1234."

"Just did, wasn't it. So I guess the half-brit half-wit has _that_ going for him, at least."

"Half-brit half-wit?" Hattori cackled again.

"Yeah. But that _was_ really dumb, though, letting him manipulate you like that."

"Ya coulda' said somethin' if ya were standin' right _there_ ya know."

Conan tilted his head at that. "Yeah… but I wanted to see what you would do, I guess." He spun the dials again. "Hm, I wonder if…"

"What're ya tryin' this time?"

"Just a sec." Conan blinked as the latch flipped open. "Huh. Go figure. That was it."

"What was?"

"4869." He lifted the lid, peering inside. No surprises, just papers. Good. Laying the lid against the desk, Conan began his investigation of the briefcase's contents.

"An' it was right? Where the hell didja get _that?"_

"It's pretty simple, really. Hakuba's a big Sherlock Holmes nut. 4869. Shi-hachi-roku-kyu. Shi-ha-ro-ku. Sherlock." Conan sighed, feeling odd contentment at that. Clever. Maybe they had more in common than he thought. He'd need to change the password to his cellphone before they saw each other again.

"Hah! Who'd be stupid enough ta set that as their combination? That's real obvious."

"…Eh, yeah. Totally." Grateful that Heiji couldn't see his embarrassment, Conan pulled out a manila folder and pawed through. Case files, neatly organized with copies of reports, legal documents, and pages of hand-written notes. A small pencil case with highlighters, pens, and a mechanical drafting pencil kept them in place, nestled against the side. Rubber bands kept each folder closed. "Geez this guy is organized."

"So what's in it?"

"Bunch of homework, it looks like. Stuff for court and cases. The recent bank robberies, too." He pulled the next folder out and slipped the rubber band off, setting it aside. "That's what he was over here for today, by the way. Asking for Occhan's files on it."

"Didja give it to him?"

"Pft, no. Are you kidding? It's bad enough that he knows who I am. I really don't think he should be messing around with those crows, too." Conan flipped through the pages of notes and stifled a yawn. "He sure has a lot of info, though…"

"Anythin' useful?"

"Probably not. I mean, there are some police reports here that I haven't seen, but we can get those any time. Megure-keibu's been anxious for our help lately." He turned another page, then paused. "Hey, there's an envelope here."

"Yeah?"

Conan picked it up and held it up to the light. "Addressed to Hakuba." It had already been opened, so he slipped the letter out and flattened it over the folder. "Huh."

"What?"

"It's written completely in kanji. No kana anywhere. It looks like a ransom note, each character pieced together from…" The boy frowned, reflexively pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, leaning in for a closer look. "Shit."

"Kudou?"

"This isn't a ransom note; it's a death threat."

"Against Hakuba?"

"Yeah. It's kind of disjointed; looks like they went out of their way to make it confusing, but this is definitely a…" He scanned the page again, taking note of the small notes written in the margins. "Oi, Hattori. Do you still have Hakuba's number in your cell?"

"Yeah…"

"Call him. I'm going to get Megure-keibu on the line."

"What? Why?"

"I think they're going to try to kill him tonight… and I don't think that Hakuba knows."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan or Magic Kaito.

_It's strange, the concept of truth._

_Proving the physical, the act of what happened, is a simple matter: if a person has ended the life of another person, they have killed. There is no question about that. Remove the bias of human emotion and motive and you are left with nothing but the concrete facts that can be used in court, all of which fits very neatly into the standardized reports that we're required to fill out at headquarters._

_Distancing ourselves from the human element allows us to accurately determine these things, yes, but leaves no allowance for justified circumstances; no exceptions for the Boscombe secrets that we come across in our work. It's the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law. Yet the process of this, which allows us to decipher such events, jeopardizes the very point and purpose of law, and our meaning and worth as detectives._

_It's not enough to have the concrete. This is what sets the true professionals apart from the amateurs. Those who can separate the id and the super ego, filtering through the relative truths according to each perspective, and resolve it all into one: the fullest truth._

_We detectives are, in the end, the seekers of that whole and complete truth._

Conan read the hand-written words in the leather-bound journal, glossing over its proposed meaning, then turned the page. It was just past 7 am, no more than fourteen hours since Hakuba had left the Mouri Detective Agency. Each attempt to call the foreign detective had taken Hattori to voicemail. He didn't answer for Conan, either; not from his phone, nor the one listed for Kudou Shinichi. Megure had his team call the Hakuba house phone and the personal line of the Superintendent General.

In the end, it only took about an hour to confirm what he had feared: Hakuba was already dead. He'd been strangled in his own bedroom while the staff and his governess slept in the rooms nearby. Once the word got out that the Superintendent General's son had been murdered, the best in their fields had been called in.

This, fortunately for Conan, included Mouri Kogoro.

The first entry in the journal was dated fifteen days ago, the second entry fourteen, and so on. He turned the page again, noting the dates, and continued to flip through the book. Black ink; neat and orderly. Each word written in careful English. There were fourteen in total; an entry for every day, except for yesterday. Some several pages long, some only a single sentence.

He flipped to the last entry in the book.

_I'm being watched. Contingencies remain. Take care._

"Oi, little boy, what are you doing here?"

Conan glanced up from the book to find a white gloved hand, palm up and expectant. His gaze traveled up the arm and to the face of the officer who'd questioned him. "Eh? I'm Mouri-san's apprentice!"

The young officer kept his hand extended, waiting, apparently unimpressed by the explanation. "Is that evidence?"

"Yeah." There was something distinctly off about him that Conan didn't quite trust. He turned the book over in his hands, then flipped it open to a random page. "It's Hakuba-niisan's journal, I think… but it's written in English, so I can't read it."

"You shouldn't be touching it, apprentice or not."

Conan let his eyes stray to the writing on the page— _I wonder, sometimes, how the criminals stand us detectives, doling out judgments and facts without understanding circumstances -_ then back to the man, tilting his head. "I don't recognize you."

The fraction of a second longer that it took the officer to respond than he should have told the young detective everything he needed to know. "…I'm new."

No. He wasn't new. Conan had seen him many times before, though it usually wasn't at murder scenes. "Oh! Did you just get here?"

"Yeah."

Conan could see it all, then. The disguise was rushed, the man pale, trembling in his uniform that was just a little too big for his frame. _No time for additional padding?_ He smirked, fingers curling around the journal in his hands. Of course _he_ would come. Hakuba was one of the detectives on the forefront of the task force; he probably had a ton of information about Kaitou KID. Why else would he risk coming to his house with cops swarming all over the place?

 _Bastard_.

"I can fill you in if you want!" Despite the burning temptation to expose the thief right then and there, he forced himself to stay calm, instead giving that sickeningly sweet smile, chipper. Too chipper for being in the bedroom of the detective who'd just been murdered.

It shook KID, who blinked at him several times before nodding, distracted. "Uh. Sure." His voice was strained. Tense. He was nervous.

_Good._

"Hakuba-niisan was attacked last night… strangled to death by his necktie, right there in that armchair." Conan watched his expression carefully, noting the thin line his lips had become. "They came in through that window. It was kind of weird, though…"

"Weird?"

"Yeah. The officers said there was no sign of forced entry and that the window musta' been unlocked. And there's no security footage, 'cause even though there's a camera right out there," he pointed through the open window to the dormant camera wedged under the overhang. "It's been off for weeks. So no one knows who came in."

A few more seconds and the officer nodded, looking from the chair to the camera, then back to Conan. "Ah," he said, voice distant.

"A couple of the officers think that it might have been Kaitou KID."

There was a twitch at the faux-officer's eye and he hesitated again, gaze growing colder. Obviously, he'd hit a nerve.

"And why is that?"

"Well…" Conan rocked back and forth on his heels, tucking the journal under his arm, and brought his other hand to his chin. "Think about it. Hakuba-niisan's one of the few people who's ever come close to catching KID, so it makes sense that he'd get rid of him, right?"

When the officer only tugged at the brim of his hat, Conan continued.

"But who knows. It'd be kind of ironic, though, 'cause we think he fell asleep in front of the fireplace reading _A Christmas Carol_ when he was attacked. The book was still open on his lap when we got here, right at the part about the ghost of Christmas Future. Ghosts, phantoms, phantom thief…" Conan gestured to the little end table where the book had been placed, then turned back to KID, who stared on in silence. "You shoulda seen the body."

"Where is it?" he whispered.

"They took it away hours ago. It only takes, like, 10-15 seconds to fall unconscious when being strangled if you put the right pressure on… whoever did it was a real expert. He probably didn't even have a chance to fight." Conan shrugged and shook his head, as if it were a shame. "His nails were scrubbed clean, too. No evidence of who was in here. He was probably dead within two minutes. There was hardly any blood."

Fake or not, the officer looked distinctly ill.

"I got lots of crime scene photos on my phone, though. Look." Conan dug out his cellphone with one hand, but he scarcely had time to log in before KID snatched the journal away.

"You shouldn't be here," he muttered, gripping the book in desperation. Blackmail?

"Oi." Conan held up his phone, and the officer turned away. "Don't you think KID will be relieved that one of his detectives is gone?"

"No one would be pleased…"

"So why are you here, KID? Had to see for yourself that this threat was gone?"

"Death isn't something to ever be celebrated!

With a snort, Conan nodded at the journal. "And that? Making sure that there's nothing in there about you?"

"I'm just being thorough." His voice turned cold, harsh. "Put your phone away."

The boy gave a bitter laugh. "Can't handle it, KID?"

"You don't have any idea…" KID stopped, glancing up and over at the rest of the room as two more officers came in to continue the investigation of the normally orderly room, forcing filing drawers open, digging through the compartment under the window bench seat.

"Oi!" Conan called to one of them, waving an arm. "Oi, I think this officer's a fake!"

It drew immediate attention, but by the time Conan turned around, KID was gone.

_Dammit!_

They combed the house for clues, tore apart the bedroom, confiscated Hakuba's laptop and many other personal effects, but there was no more evidence to be found. He hadn't been lying about it having been a professional job; there were no footprints, only the slightest traces of mud in the windowsill from the hedges just outside; no finger prints, no torn skin, no loose hairs, nothing. Just quietly murdered in the safety and comfort of his own home.

And while the Superintendent General barked orders at Megure and his team, Kogoro falling into step like old times, Hakuba's Baaya stood in the hallway and sobbed into a handkerchief.

The autopsy report indicated that Hakuba Saguru had ingested a shot of scotch that night, which was stated to be normal behavior by his governess. There were no other drugs or toxins in his system. Other than the bruise on his cheek from the previous night, the only injury he'd sustained was the crushed windpipe from the tie garrote. Uncomfortable, yes, but an almost merciful death from an assassin.

In the end, they had no leads, no witnesses, and no ideas – other than the organization's potential involvement, but even then, who did Conan know who used strangulation as their method of choice? Not Gin or Vodka, probably not Vermouth… most of the organization members he knew preferred to use guns. It was a dead end.

"The Metropolitan police are scratching their heads at the disturbingly quiet murder of the Superintendent General's son, Hakuba Saguru, a famous international detective, who was strangled to death in his own home the other night… It seems that despite having all of their homicide detectives working on the case, no headway is being made, so it's no wonder General Hakuba has allegedly called in some private investigators to continue looking into things on the side…"

It'd been days since the murder, and Mouri's part in the investigation was still ongoing. They'd turned the briefcase in, given their statements of their personal involvement, and had agreed to stay on to help look for any more leads. But Conan already knew that if there had been anything of use, it'd have been in that journal, which Kaitou KID now had.

"Look! Look, Ran! Your old man is almost on!"

Ran and Conan both turned away from their homework to glance at the newscast on TV, which now had a photo of Kogoro among some other, more famous private investigators.

"They better use my voice clip!" Kogoro was in rare form.

"It's a real tragedy," the voice of one Mogi Harufumi took over, and footage of him speaking soon followed. The man wiped a tear from his eye, then shrugged, hands up. "He was a good kid, a real fine detective. Always willing to lend a hand or a few bucks when needed. We detectives look out for each other. He's really going to be missed… but don't worry, buddy, we'll catch that bad guy for you!"

Just behind him in the background, Souda Ikumi was in the middle of rolling her eyes before the video feed cut back to the news reporter, who looked professionally sympathetic.

"Although the Superintendent General was unable to be reached for comment, we have been assured that the rest of the Hakuba family is, in fact, safe… and that they wish to thank to all of the hardworking men and women who have been on the case, as well extend their gratitude for all of the well-wishes and support in this troubling time."

As the newscaster gave her closing statements about making offerings at local shrines, Kogoro slapped a hand on his desk and shook a fist at the television. "They didn't even let me speak! I was at the scene!"

"Tou-san…" Ran chided him gently, tired.

Conan glanced to where the briefcase had been tucked away and frowned at the aching lump in his throat. He'd been there, sitting across from him on that couch. He'd asked for help. Was there something he could have done?

"Oh—we've just received notice from a special guest," the reporter said, abandoning the discussion of ribbon day when a crew member pushed a white card into her hands. "It seems that Kaitou KID has condolences to offer, himself… Can we get this on screen?"

The card took over the broadcast, written carefully, caricature in the bottom right-hand corner as usual.

"The upcoming heist has been canceled in light of the recent tragedy," she read. "It has become clear to me that everyone's time is far better spent hunting the bastards responsible instead of chasing a silly thief. Rest assured, I will return, and that there will be justice for death of my detective."

But there would be no justice for Hakuba Saguru… not for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! It only ALMOST took me a full year to post another chapter!  
> This is part three of five. Major A++ thanks to Oci for being my Kaito consult on this chapter, and also megaMEGA thanks to Mamodewberry for betaing for me!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Detective Conan or Magic Kaito.
> 
> ===

There were no conclusive statements until after the wake, delayed due to the Superintendent General’s wife’s residency in England. Mrs. Hakuba arrived, though, on the first flight that she could manage, and graciously hosted a barrage of police officers, detectives, and members of the press on little to no sleep. Even then, it seemed that no one had any sort of helpful information for who could have killed their only son.

Conan watched Heiji join the pallbearers to carry the casket, wooden plank over his shoulder, and wondered if he’d have joined him if he wasn’t only three feet tall. The nature of his murder made a final viewing possible, though all that the little detective could think about was wishing he could have gotten a better look at the injuries before the crime scene had been cleared. Besides, even in the fine suit, the teenage detective looked like any other dead person that he’d ever seen. Makeup could only do so much to mask the truth.

"He wasn't very good at reading kanji..." Hakuba’s governess explained to no one in particular, wiping her eyes. She'd done so much crying that her glasses had been tucked away in the neckline of her black dress. "But he was such a good boy, and he worked so hard. It was always those cases keeping him up late at night, among other things. And, god, had I known... had I known... he was supposed to graduate this year and attend university!"

It was after the funeral, after everyone had given their last respects and contributions to the family. Most were talking shop, quietly gathered in small clumps in the shade of the building outside, but there were still a few that lingered at the doorway. The funeral itself had been small for a family like the Hakubas, considering their prestige in the community, and consisted mainly of officers. In fact, Conan thought it remarkably similar to what he’d seen around the conference room at a high level police briefing. There were some minor exceptions, of course, like the blonde woman who stayed close to the Superintendent General, features clearly indicative of her foreign nationality; Hakuba’s mother.  There were also a handful of teenagers from Ekoda High School, some saying nothing, some weeping quietly, all in black. Comforting each other.

The little boy looked back up at the older woman, wondering if she was addressing _him,_ but she just continued to mumble to herself. "I should tend to the mistress," she said, wiping the fog from the lenses of her glasses, but didn't get further than that before she started sniffling again.

It was overly emotional for such a quiet ceremony. Very few had known the British detective well, but those who had couldn't seem to contain themselves, which was such an awkward contrast. Conan would have stayed close to Ran as a shield against all of the broken hearts, except that she was crying, too. Not that it was unusual; Ran was a bleeding heart who cared too much about everyone.

So he stuck to Heiji's side instead, but even he was somber.

"Kudou," Heiji said in a low whisper when Baaya had left them. "Do you think we coulda' stopped it?"

The shrunken detective didn't look up at him; he didn't like that waver in the normally confident Osakan's voice. Nor did he like the implication of guilt. Though, truth be told, he'd wondered that same thing a lot in the past four days.

"I don't know," Conan answered, reluctantly truthful.

If he'd given Hakuba the information that he'd wanted, would he have stayed to discuss it? Talked to Occhan? Would they have gone through the briefcase together, discovered the note? Would that have altered how things had turned out?

He doubted it.

Hakuba had probably known what it had meant; his baaya may have said he wasn’t skilled with kanji, but to what degree? Hakuba wasn’t stupid, that much was obvious. And he'd have had to go home at some point. Professional assassins were patient. So it was hard to say. The circumstances were so specific, so particular.

Further investigation revealed that Hakuba had been the one to sabotage the security camera, months ago. But why?

Kid had taken the journal, but there were still plenty of others to go through; under the window bench were quilts, journals full of similar writing, and a lock box, which was easily picked, but yielded very little. Cigarettes, photos of famous locations in Europe, and letters from someone he called _ma bichette_ \- his little doe.

It was frustrating. There were so many little pieces of information that were just-- _missing_. The exceptionally clean crime scene; the philosophical essays about the complexities of humanity and life, all written for no one; the journal that Kid had taken; the canceled heist; the fact that no one could really tell him anything personal about Hakuba in that whole procession... what did it mean? What did it add up to?

Heiji crouched down and nudged the boy, thick brows creased in concern. "Oi," he muttered, and nodded his head at him in question.

Conan shrugged it off, pulling his glasses away to rub his tired eyes. "It just doesn't... I mean, even if we plug the organization into the equation, I still don't know _who_ did it, Hattori... or _why_... What information was he so close to?"

The Osakan frowned, but had no answer, either. "Ain't there anywhere else we can take a look?"

With a sigh, Conan put the frames back in place, pushing on the bridge to adjust it on his nose. "At the station, maybe."

When Heiji nodded, Conan followed his gaze across the room, where his father- Superintendent Supervisor Hattori Heizo -was talking quietly with Hakuba's father.

"Yeah," Heiji said. "I'll see if I can find anythin' at our headquarters, too."

The staff began to usher out anyone but the immediate family behind, and Conan took one last glance before heading out the door with his tall companion.

Most of the crowd had dispersed by then. The sun was bright and warm on the summer grass, and the few remaining guests were standing in the patches of shade afforded by the various trees that lined the property. Ran was with the other teenagers, hugging one of the girls that had dissolved into tears. Next to them, a boy leaned against the trunk of the tree, eyes fixed on the ground. He looked… oddly familiar.

"Oi, Kudou." Heiji's tone cycled somewhere between disbelief and confusion. "That can't be--? That ain't you, so who...?"

Ah. That explained it. Conan narrowed his eyes, anger brimming all at once again. "That bastard..."

"Haa? Do you mean that's Kid?"

"I'll handle it." Fists clenched, he stomped over, forcing an unnatural smile on his chubby little face. "Ne ne!" he said, reaching up to tug on the hem of Ran's skirt. "Who's this guy, Ran-neechan?"

"Oh." Ran, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, pulled away from the other girl and looked down at the boy, sheepishly offering a little smile. "These are Hakuba-kun's friends from school. This is Nakamori Aoko," she nodded to the girl. "And this is... er, I guess I didn't get his name."

"Ah! Aoko is sorry! This is my stupid friend-" the girl began to bow her hellos to the new arrivals, only to be yanked by the boy sharply, grasping onto her arm.

"Ahoko! It's time to go!" he snapped.

"Ne!" Conan followed after, little legs moving at a trot. "But I wanna know who you are! You can't be rude like that!"

"Conan-kun!" Ran caught up with him and crouched to keep him held tight. "Let them go; they've been through enough today. They're really upset. They just lost their friend."

Conan struggled against her arms, but she only held him tighter. "But Ran-neechan!" he whined, pleading.

"I know, I know, you're upset, too." Ran nuzzled in against the back of his head, face buried in his hair. "I know, Conan-kun. You really liked Hakuba-kun, and he's gone. I'm sorry."

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he felt the warm tears on the back of his neck. She was crying again. Panicked, he looked to Heiji for help, who looked just about as torn as he felt.

"I'm gonna go check on my ol' man," he finally muttered, and shuffled off with his hands in his pockets. "See ya'."

 _Bastard..._ Conan glared after him, but went limp in short order, letting Ran hold him. It hurt too much to know she was in pain, and even though he couldn't do much, he could at least be there for her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Just remember that it's not your fault, Conan-kun..."

 _My fault?_ Conan craned his head, trying to look back at her, but she was holding him too tight.

Was it his fault...? No. That was stupid.

There was no way.

...but now he wasn't so sure.

. . .  

Weeks passed without resolution. The Superintendent General wasn't about to let the murder of his son go unsolved, but there really wasn't all that much to go off of. Hakuba Saguru had pulled an enormous number of files from the Tokyo Metropolitan database, but other than solving a myriad of cold cases and making corrections to hundreds of reports, there was nothing really of note. The verdict was that teenage detective had been both prolific and meticulous with paperwork.

His own cases met every documented requirement when the police needed to be involved, but there were no other notes otherwise. Hakuba's agent didn't have copies of the files either, though he was certain that they existed in some capacity, somewhere.

"He was far too organized for there to be nothing. Probably hid them, or had them digitally. He was always on that damned phone of his." The agent reported this, of course, with half of his attention on the detectives and the other half on the smart phone pressed up against his ear.

Conan's own investigations were getting him nowhere. Nakamori Aoko was a student at Ekoda high school, where Hakuba Saguru had been enrolled; that much was true. Her father was Nakamori Ginzo, the inspector in charge of the Kid task force. That his daughter was friends with Kid...

Well, even then, was it? Kid had disguised himself as any number of people before. Nakamori-chan's friend would have been an excellent cover.

Why risk it otherwise?

It bothered him, though.

Did Kid really have something to do with Hakuba's death?

It was unlikely. Related, maybe, but Kid wasn’t the killing type. But it was all that he had to go on, especially with the rest of the evidence under lockdown.

“Detectives are now working on a theory that the murder of teenage detective Hakuba Saguru might have been political in motive, sending a message to the Superintendent General.” The woman on the screen looked up from her papers while pausing to let the information sink in, then continued. “Of course, investigations are still underway, and all statements from the Tokyo Metropolitan police department have been firm in their determination to bring the killer to justice.”

Conan leaned back against the couch, papers spread over the coffee table, and sighed into the cellphone. "This is the first time they've mentioned the case in a week..."

"Yeah. They stopped over here, too. Guess it's not fresh anymore."

Heiji, like Conan, sounded weary to be talking about it again. He hadn't liked Hakuba, sure, but he hadn't wanted him to _die_ , either. But it wasn't like they could do much about it; it was a case out of their hands.

The smaller detective snorted, leaning over to pick up one of the reports that he'd gone over a hundred times before. "Yeah. A cold case for the Cold Case Detective. Figures."

Heiji managed a little laugh, but it was half-hearted at best. After the silence stretched on the line, he cleared his throat. "Look, Kudou..."

"Mn?"

"I know this case is really buggin' ya and all, but..." He hesitated, and Conan let him stew on it, offering no help. So Heiji continued. "Ain't ya kind of spinnin' your wheels?"

The boy looked back at the television and the news ticker scrolling along the bottom of it. Maybe Heiji had a point, but it's not like it was going to just let him rest. It was a puzzle that had to be solved. "C'mon, Hattori... this is all wrapped up in something a lot bigger, and it might lead to _them."_

"Sure, but what can ya do without any more data? I mean, maybe ya can track Kid down? Get that journal back?"

"Yeah, because _that's_ easy." Conan spared none of the sarcasm in his voice, glaring at the news woman.

"Yeah yeah, I know. But he's the only lead ya have, ain’t he? An' you said that you had a name for 'im, right?"

Kuroba Kaito was the boy at the funeral, that much he'd learned. But if he really was Kaitou Kid, walking right into his home territory seemed like a stupidly dangerous idea. And if he wasn't, it would bring a bunch of suspicion on himself.

Either way, not something he really wanted to mess with.

"I'll deal with him at the next heist."

"Yeah but that could be months from now, Kudou!"

"Nah... he knows we need to talk."

There were a few moments of silence on the other end of the line before Heiji sighed once again. He was used to being left out of the details, but this was ridiculous. "If ya say so, Kudou..."

"Trust me."

. . .

Contact came via an anonymous text message two days later. A location, a date, a time, and 'Come alone, Meitantei-kun.'

_Easy enough._

It was an annoying climb to get to the rooftop of Tokyo Marriott Hotel, but at least that meant that their confrontation would go without interruption. Another swipe of the access key, and Conan let himself out into the dark concrete, closing the door with a quiet click.

It was dark. The city lights below drowned out the stars while the half-moon above offered only highlights of silver. He wandered, sneakers padding in near silence, and scanned the area for- oh. There he was.

Lying on his back near the ledge was Kid, cape spread out beneath him like a blanket. If the thief had heard him, he gave no indication, simply staring up at the empty sky.

Conan coughed. Whatever game he was intending to play wasn't going to happen. It was better to get right to the point. He came to a stop six feet away; just out of reach. "So what do you want, KID? Are you going to confess?"

The thief sighed, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest. He didn't even look at him, just continued to lie there. "Confess what, exactly?" he asked. Tired.

"That you had something to do with his death."

Silence for a few seconds, and then he answered, "No."

"No you didn't, or no you _aren't?_ "

Kid's eyes closed, trading sight for the action of lifting a hand, arm bent at the elbow. "Here."

The journal.

Conan regarded him for a few seconds, assessing his condition, the object, the situation, and clenched tiny fists at his side. "What, did you remove all mentions of _you?_ "

"There weren't any," Kid said, and gave the book one tiny shake. "I'd keep it anyway, but it might help the investigation… so I relinquish it to you."

It would be easy enough to tell if the book had been altered in any way, but that still didn't mean that it wasn't a trap. But it was also the best lead that he had. He crept forward, step by step, and held out a hand for it. "Hand it over then, Kid."

The thief pried one eye open to look at him, considering, then tossed it with a simple flick of his wrist. Conan caught it easily enough with both arms, and backed away, holding it against his chest.

He had the book, but there was so much more that he needed. Conan sniffed, tucked it under his arm, and glared at the phantom. "Oi... so what, guilty conscience got to you?"

Kid waited a moment, then turned his head away, blinking in the dark before closing his eyes again. "You have the journal, meitantei-kun… leave me to my shadows..."

"Yeah, sure." Conan rolled his eyes, turning around to start back for the door. "Because I'm really gonna just let you go when you're the only one who seems to know what's going on here. Tell me, Kid, is your name really Kuroba?"

He waited for the tell-tale sound of shock or hesitation, but instead there was only silence. Was his deduction that spot on? Or was Kid--

Conan peeked over his shoulder only to find the rooftop vacant. No Kid.

_Dammit!_

. . .

The journal had very little to offer, and as far as Conan could tell, it hadn't been tampered with. Each page was just as he remembered it, and the cover had been wiped clean of all prints. There was still the faint scent of anise amid the pages, too. Kid had been telling the truth.

Conan thumbed through them, lying on floor next to the couch in the Mouri office. He knew he had to turn it over eventually, but not until he'd had a chance to go through them. Who knew what other evidence the police had locked away? He didn't want to risk it, even if it was probably nothing.

 

> _I often think of Holmes, lying in wait in the opium den, giving in to his vices while in the pursuit of his truth. It's human nature to have vices, you know; it's how we differentiate our perspective from reality. It's how we established boundaries for ourselves. Without knowing our limits, without pushing them, how are we to know what we're capable of, and what we ought to avoid?_
> 
> _Along this same vein, they say that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, which I firmly believe is true. You cannot know real, true love, at least in its fullest capacity, without first having your heart broken. You cannot know true joy and appreciate it without having also felt despair and the ache of longing._
> 
> _Pain increases empathy and understanding. Pleasure does, as well. There must be a balance. Life must be experienced. If we detectives are to really, truly understand the motive behind the crime, we must not be perfect. We must not let ourselves believe that we are infallible._
> 
> _We are only men (and women!), after all. Any of us can be corrupted. Any one of us can fall prey to our follies, and slip until our justifications become our ultimate undoing. Not one among us is sinless or spotless. But that is why we have God, is it not?_
> 
> "Judge not, that ye be not judged.  
>  "For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.  
>  "And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?"  
>  [Matthew 7:1-3 KJV]
> 
> _Yes, we are to make judgments based on the information that we have, but it must be with impartial empathy. Is there even such a thing? I believe that there is, though the precise way to describe it escapes me..._

 

Conan stared at the page, squinted, then rubbed his eyes and closed the journal again. Hakuba was quoting the Bible in his detective work. What the hell...?

Even though it was giving him a headache, he opened it up to where he was before, and prepared himself to continue reading. There were only a few pages left... there had to be SOMETHING of value in there! Somewhere!

Then came the buzzing of his cell phone, signaling a call, which the detective answered with all of the eager excitement that he could muster. _Thank god!_

"Hakase?" he asked.

"No." Quiet, expectant, incredulous. It was Haibara.

"Oh." The relief faded, and Conan looked back at the journal again. Which was worse? "What do you want?"

"You have some mail here. You need to come pick it up."

Normally, Agasa-Hakase just left mail for Shinichi in a big pile for him to sort through whenever he had time. Which was rarely, since it was mostly junk. Such a pain...

"Ehh... I'll do it this weekend. Is it overflowing again?"

"Yes." Haibara's words were always clipped short, and this was no exception. "You should come take care of it."

"I don't wanna sort through fan mail, Haibara..." He grinned, taking his glasses off to look just a little more smug, even if the girl couldn't see it.

"This isn't fan mail."

Thoughts of fan mail were replaced with intrigue immediately and he sat up, putting the glasses back in place. "Eh? What is it?"

"A stack of letters. From Hakuba S. J."

Hakuba S. J. Hakuba Saguru. Saguru J. Hakuba. That was the name printed in the obituary.

Hakuba Saguru had sent him letters?

"What's the postmark?"

"Three days ago."

Conan got to his feet, stuffing the journal under the couch cushion, and hurried to the door to put his shoes on. "Haibara, is there anything else about the letters? Anything descriptive?"

"Sent internationally from Denmark... and each one of them has a wax seal of a horse."

The horse was the Hakuba family crest. Not that it couldn't be replicated easily enough, but... "How many letters are there?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "Come count them yourself."

She hung up before Conan could say anything else, but she didn't really need to; he was already on his way.


End file.
